dina hiji mangsa
by pindanglicious
Summary: [ ficlet collection for engspaweek2018 ] [7/7] ; "is it really a brotherly love you harbour for him?" ―and arthur could never answer that.
1. ulah ngudud wae

**disclaimer:** hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, the first day's entry of #engspaweek2018 prompt no #18. the fict would be ficlet collection in 7 chapters.

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 **ulah ngudud wae**

 **[1/7]**

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It was already about five on the afternoon when Antonio strolled through Arthur's room, bringing a tray of tea and some snacks for the younger mate just in case if he wanted to enjoy his usual tea time ritual. Arthur hadn't been out from his sacred chamber for a whole day and it somehow caused Antonio a little worried because he thought that annoying Brit wasn't feeling good; Arthur usually would be fetching his own tea at this exact time, but today was different.

Antonio opened the door with one hand without minding himself to knock it first.

"Arthur! Get up you _Lazy Daisy_! You're not supposed to do siesta―"

He stopped talking as he realised Arthur wasn't laying on his bed. He squinted around when he smelt a strong scent his nose familiar with, until he finally found Arthur, leaning his elbow against the opened window with a cigar clamped between his pale lips. He did nothing but watching a dull sky or probably the neglected neighbour's yard out there with a blank stare.

 _There he is._

Antonio wasn't saying anything at first. He watched the wisps of grey smoke whirled around; entangled with the air, as if they were dancing a flamenco. The rich smell of burnt tobacco permeated the room, almost made him cough. Antonio took a step forward to reach the English young man by his shoulder.

"A new way to enjoy the afternoon tea time in your room, young master?"

Antonio muttered with a smile―annoying smile, if Arthur had to say―tugged on his face, it sounded much bitter as if he spat snake venom out of his mouth. It wasn't that Antonio had a penchant for being sarcastic, but when he was with Arthur, he was a complete different person―not in negative way, though.

He put the tray on the nightstand next to Arthur's bed before restarting his rant again. Let's just forget his idiot wide smile earlier, he needed to be serious this time or Arthur would never stop being stubborn.

Arthur grunted in annoyance. He hated anyone who ruined his supposed to be perfect _me time._ He did really want to shout and shove that noisy Spaniard away out of the room.

" _Arthur."_ Antonio exhaled a deep breath, feeling his lungs with the air and of course, nicotine. He crossed his arms against his chest, waiting Arthur to open his mouth and answer his every words.

"You smoke again. More than thrice a day. I always count it, mate." He mocked, intentionally pulling out a cockney accent to express his aggravation, showing his three fingers from his hand. And Arthur finally rolled his eyes as his very first respond.

"Will you sod off, dear Antonio? You act almost like a nagging wife."

Arthur turned his back, glaring towards the older man and smiled scarcely. He put his burning cigar to the ashtray, dumping the ash by tapping it twice. Rubbing his forehead, Antonio started to laugh, he didn't really mind the last insult.

"I've told you―"

"'s bad for my health yeah Doctor, I knew it already." Arthur stubbornly refused to let Antonio to finish his words. He took back the cigar stick to his mouth before inhaling the smoke to fill his lungs.

"Now you can leav―"

He stopped speaking as Antonio pressed his lips against his own, startled by the sudden intrusion. It felt warm and vivid, though, much contrasted from his cold mouth.

It was just a kiss. A sweet kiss; with no tongue in, no teeth. But Antonio had successfully made him all red and frantic. Arthur grit his teeth, for the most part feeling quite embarrassed, in other way he was disgruntled as Antonio wrested his snout away from him with that annoyingly idiot―but captivating―smirk.

Arthur stared at Antonio's bright green eyes.

 _(Oh, I want to devour him now in my bed.)_

"I don't like it when you stick your lips all day long to those bloody fags." He explained honestly. Arthur hadn't stopped looking at his eyes and neither had Antonio. This young Brit's green eyes were trapping him to stay still in the pits of hell. "How was it?"

While Arthur was still deadpan quiet, Antonio crushed the cigar by his fist before it was thrown away to the ashtray. The blond haired male wasn't looked so much buggered as Antonio thought, albeit he was pouting.

"Worse. Tomato is my least favourite food amongst all." Arthur commented, resulting a chuckle from his Spanish friend.

"I know you would say th―"

And this time was Antonio's turn to shut up when Arthur abruptly attacked his mouth.

Antonio gasped when Arthur bit his lower lip, causing him to open his mouth in reflex, and it was Arthur's chance to slide his tongue in, exploring the cave and inviting Antonio's tongue to be intertwined with his own.

Antonio shut his eyes as he tasted the awful flavour from Arthur's mouth, from his own spat. He grabbed the younger male's collar shirt and clenched on it, doing his best to mute his moan or something worse would happen and he hadn't really prepared of it. He whimpered in dismay as Arthur wrapped his arms around his waist with a tight grip, kissing him deeper as if he wouldn't stop before Antonio moaned his name.

It ended after they ran out of air to breathe. Antonio panted frantically and was entirely shocked because he had never expected Arthur would do as far as this, his face was much more flushed than Arthur's. His eyes were dilating as he complained between his rushed pants.

"You just said it was worse! How could you―"

"Never say I don't like it though. You offered me first."

Arthur hushed the older man one more time with a brief kiss. Antonio attempted to shove Arthur's arms away from his waist. However he was pulled down to the Brit's lap as he sat on his bed, grabbing his tea cup from the nightstand next to them and sip it with pleasure, even if the tea was already cold.

"Thank you for the tea. That was so sweet of you."

And now Antonio completely stopped rambling, his body stiffened in Arthur's grip. He vowed to himself he wouldn't bugger Arthur off anymore if he didn't want to ended up being Arthur's snack on his afternoon tea time like this.


	2. dihaja pisan

**disclaimer:** hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, the second day's entry of #engspaweek2018 prompt no #11

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 **dihaja pisan**

 **[2/7]**

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"I'm absolutely gutted."

A long sigh of despair came out of a certain man's mouth who laid his body on an old couch, his pair of gloomed green eyes were focused to the television, with a blank hopeless stare however. His hands went limp and were lying down powerlessly on the seat.

"If Pique hadn't done that bloody handball they wouldn't be sacked like that! ¡Mierda! Why didn't they list Fabregas on their team why―"

Antonio stopped ranting as he felt his head aching for a moment. He squinted his eyes towards the other man sitting beside him whose face was showing a contrast expression to his brunet friend. He tugged a slight smirk in triumph, though the older man wasn't clearly noticing it.

"I don't know how should I feel for you, Antonio," the blond haired younger man shrugged, and immediately got snapped by Antonio with a sour tone on his speech.

"Be sad for me, Arthur. My country's national team was just being knocked out―nay, it had gone pear-shaped. Ah. Those Russian walls must be quite chuffed. Crushing such a big team like my country is."

Antonio, much to his chagrin, wasn't feeling pleased by what he just watched. It was the World Cup thing, he relied on no teams but his beloved country's national team; a 2010 champion; yet he had lost his hope this day. Arthur could only roll his eyes to respond. Both of them were too proud of their countries, but that wasn't always a bad thing, no?

"Mine's still surviving. How can I not be happy?"

Arthur muffled his giggle by a palm, trying hard to not bursting a laugh or else Antonio would kill him in an instant punch. "It's my turn now, Anthony. _It's coming ho_ -"

"Yeah sure. England will certainly come home very soon. Absobloodylootely."

Antonio rolled his eyes. He had no desire to hear the next sentence on Arthur's ridiculous phrase regarding football's home coming.

"I don't need that sarcastic comment. Why can't you just let me enjoy this moment."

Arthur frowned in annoyance as he heard Antonio jeered at him with that satirical tone. He didn't expect Antonio to be that sharp when he had bad days. Or maybe he didn't realise that was how Antonio always felt every damn time he berated him with all of his sarcasm.

Antonio leant his back against the couch, stretching his stiff muscles; he sat too much and too long this whole day. He pulled Arthur by the back of his shoulder, leaning the blond's hair against his chest and got the younger boy startled for the sudden tug. He heard Antonio laughed then, as if all of his unhappiness were shoved away elsewhere.

"You can't enjoy this without me enjoying it too!"

He messed up Arthur's blond hair with his fingers, drawing out a disgruntled groan from the Brit.

"Feel better now?" Arthur asked, still not happy as his hair was a complete tangled mess; he tried to fix some with his own fingers. Antonio carved a reassured smile on his face, looking through the other's green eyes with lots of wonder.

"A bit, at least."

"Weird." Arthur scoffed; his head was still resting on the older man's chest. He could hear him breathing as well as his heartbeat. "You just wanted to do this to me. Not because you were gutted." He mumbled, as he buried his face on the elder mate's chest.

"I will let you cry here too when England lost."

"Shut up, you!"


	3. katresna

_in which antonio strangely has spanish-cockney accent but still can't pronounce arthur's name._

 **disclaimer:** hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, the third day's entry of #engspaweek2018 prompt no #10

yeah all thanks to hector bellerin he inspired me to write this im literally cryin everytime i listen to him speaking english

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 **katresna**

 **[3/7]**

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Arthur had known Antonio for long enough that he could even smoothly recognise how his voice sounded, how he walked in a crowd, how his figure looked when he stood, how his long lashes moved when he _blinked_ , how **he** **breathe** **d** ―everything. Especially when he spoke.

The Spanishman spoke unexpectedly an outstanding English Arthur had never heard before from any other Spaniards he had met. Arthur always noticed Antonio uttered a word or two with an accent he was, at the first, vaguely aware; not quite American, no, it was quite different. Not until Arthur realised what when Antonio accidentally slipped some familiar slang out of his mouth when they engaged in a casual, friendly conversation.

" _Artur_ , mate, somethin' on your crust!"

Arthur kept his eyelids open, preventing a blink to make sure what his ears just caught, and was slapped back to the reality as soon as he finally recognised it.

 _Cockney. It really is._

He chuckled a laughter, not that he meant to insult Antonio's pretentious accent. He was about to praise the older man because Antonio sounded just like he grew up in London.

As Antonio approached towards him to sweep something away up on his head, Arthur was holding his breath when Antonio was already stepped closer, a few inches next to him before he felt a warm hand pressed against his head.

Sometimes he wondered how and why and since when the bloody hell did Antonio nail an English accent the non-native could barely speak. At any occasion, Arthur would also notice a glance of Spanish dialect clung on his tongue. But everything didn't bother him not even the slightest.

"Just a speck of dust."

Antonio patted his head just after he swept the dirt away to the air, earning a kind of silly grin from the young Englishman, he squinted his eyes twice.

"I'm not even sure if you're still Spanish," Arthur cracked an implied gag on his sentence, still managing his grin atop his lips whilst Antonio's voice kept echoing in his mind. Sometimes he forgot that Antonio was a Spanishman.

The brown haired man giggled a crooked little laugh, Arthur couldn't help but smiled; with the top row of his teeth was shown between his lips but no crease bellow his eyes, no movement of his cheeks.

"Did I get on your wick?" Antonio asked, somewhat embarrassed if he did do wrong.

"No! No. That's just perfectly fine."

"Ahh. Gracias." Antonio let out a relieved long sigh upon the praise. "All thanks to you, _Artur,"_ he added.

 _There._

The way he called Arthur's name. Arthur was waiting for this. A smirk once again spread across his face, the fact that Antonio had never changed his own manner of pronouncing his name despite his outstanding English skill was none than pleasing. _Artur,_ he said, with his peculiar Spanish accent; every so often Antonio would roll his 'r' when he wanted to do so.

It was only Antonio who pronounced his name like that; even João called him _Arthur_ all the time with his best effort. Arthur never complained nor did he insist to correct Antonio. He savoured it and never wished Antonio to change that.

"Ye know how much I didn't understand any words at first."

Antonio looked up to the grey sky as if he was reminiscing about his old awkward self when he first landed in England, not understanding none other word than basic greetings, where his Spanish twang was thick and strong and Arthur barely understood him.

But now he was almost like a proper Englishman more than Arthur himself. Arthur had no idea how he aced it. Probably did some kind of binge reading a ton of English books, or watching English movies, or anything beside that, Antonio never told him whatsoever.

"Yeah. You didn't even know how to say a word back then. Your face looked like a bloody clueless fool when you couldn't reply someone's question."

"You twat!" Antonio snapped at the insult, striking Arthur's rib with an elbow but not hard and no harm had been done. There was a brief outburst of laughter from the two. "But I learnt a lot from you, I'm happy to be your friend. You're―ah, mi mejor amigo, _Artur_!"

And that sudden change on his tone when he switched a language made Arthur the happiest man he had ever been, the most pleasant sound he had ever heard.

 _A Spanish-Cockney. He really is._


	4. sariak layung

**disclaimer:** hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, the third day's entry of #engspaweek2018 prompt no #1

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 **sariak layung**

 **[04/07]**

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"I'm home."

A streak of long silence welcomed him as Arthur slowly opened the door for the first after a long time he abandoned his small house, earning a creaking sound echoed against the wall.

Old nostalgic feeling he caught. There was a tiny fragment of shivering cold touched his calf once he stepped in, standing with his big full backpack still leant on his back, clutched by his exhausted shoulders. He smelled a strong odour came through the furnitures where dust laid on every surfaces they could reach like dirty snow; tumbled across the old wooden floor in the size of a marble.

Arthur let out a sigh, slamming himself into an old, dusty couch underneath him, leaning his stiff back and seeking for a comfortable position. His blank gaze trailed from the mouldy wooden walls to the cracked windows across; the frame was already covered by sticky spider webs, some furniture were apparently gnawed by rats, making him thought of how long actually he had gone leaving his residence uncleaned.

Barcelona, he was there for seven months, and miraculously survived from the horror of civil war that he was able to be back to England. His worst wound was a fracture on his leg and his left shoulder was ripped off by a shot in Huesca. Being there along with other foreign volunteers was much the worst but his best experience he ever had.

Arthur lowered his head, rubbing the tip of his nose to repel the flashback of his painful memories on his darkest hours.

Too silent. Too quiet. He felt lonely. It was quite different before he went off to the warfare.

Then he lifted his face, looking through an opened door where he found a man stood on the entrance, waving a hand to him with his smile spreading wide and bright as his beautiful green eyes were always be.

" _Tonight, I'll let you sleep by my side!"_

"Antonio-"

Arthur stunned, his pupil dilated much to his surprise, before something slapped him back to the cruel reality.

"-no."

His vision was blured with tears as he saw Antonio wasn't standing there anymore, leaving him crying like a baby boy who didn't want his big brother let go of him.

"You're unfair."

.

.

.

" _Thank you for helping me to save my country, mate. A stout, vigurous lad you are."_

That was the very last time Antonio talked with him; amidst a horrible chaos in Aragon.

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*story's referring to spanish civil war and battle of ebro, with george orwell's homage to catalonia as a reference. And sure it's likely more platonic.

*sariak layung (sundanese); afternoon time (about 5-6 pm)


	5. hideung jeung bodas

**disclaimer:** hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, the fifth day's entry of #engspaweek2018 prompt no #13

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 **hideung jeung bodas**

 **[5/7]**

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Everything began from Antonio's pertinacity to move his leg; _"We're goin' out on the lash!"_ , he said, suggesting to drink on a night out at any nearby pub around to relieve his pressured day. Arthur was forced to come with; after being promised that Antonio would treat him a drink, he agreed to drive his car out, obliging to accompany the Spanishman albeit he took it half-heartedly. (Actually Antonio threatened him that if he declined his wish, he would humiliate him in front of Francis, Arthur's _long time_ nemesis.)

Shortly after fifteen minutes, they found a tiny old pub; a bit isolated away from the crowd across the city.

The old pub wasn't quite populous since the space was slightly cramped; dim in the barely lit when they first entered in. Through the casement windows oozed the yellowish light of street-lamps. There were only two couples of seat remained whilst the other three was already occupied, mostly by young men of around their age, the rests were middle aged men.

Chirps of conversation, thick of a certain accent, whirled within a cloud of smoke. A strong reek of fags mingled with mephitic odour. Thus, the smell of drinks and cocktails wafted towards the two recent visitors, luring Antonio―without deducting a second thought―to haul his English mate through the tiny lounge. Arthur was about to shout him a protest but he was given no chance.

"Two glasses of wine, please!"

Antonio exclaimed, lifting two fingers when he reached the tender. He tilted his head and glanced towards his pouting companion. "Arthur, is wine okay for you? Or would you like ale instead?"

"Anythin's fine! Damn just hurry up! I want to go home already!" Arthur impertinently scoffed, earning a grimace smile from Antonio.

"You bloody impatient prat!" bitting his lower lip out of irritation, he pinched Arthur's cheek until the Brit groaned his complain. Both weren't much aware of people's attention at their the silly banter; the owner―who was also a tender―giggled towards them as well.

"You two are a perfect match for each other!" he praised, clapping his hands with a wide joyful smile on his round face. Both men frowned with a thin strike of blush on their faces.

"I'm **not** his date!"Antonio immediately denied; straight and bold. Arthur looked at him with strange expression that gave Antonio no clue. The Spanishman was confused for a while, then managed to get an idea afterwards."He is uh ... my son!" he blurted an unexpected sentence, leading a bombshell came out of both his mate and the man in front of him.

"What the blood―"

Antonio silenced Arthur with a stomp on his foot. An awkward gaze they got from the old man.

"Sir,"

"Joking. Of course not. I'm 25." Antonio whirled a humiliated laugh while stroking his brown locks; his eyes still showing out his confidence however. He pointed at Arthur beside him before resuming his lie. "And he's 23 so yeah, he's actually my baby brother you can say. We're **not** a couple."

 _YOU LUNATIC SPANISH CLOTPOLE!_

Arthur screamed in his mind, getting more anxious. He rubbed his forehead to ease a throbing pain; he worried for nothing. This was a crime.

Surprisingly, the Scouse man in front of them nodded his head with a parted mouth as if he wholly trusted Antonio's nonsense talk. "You look like Spanish, Sir! Despite your accent, though."

"Half bloods, we are. He takes after our dad whilst I take after our mum. Look nothin' alike, innit?"

Arthur nearly cried. He knew Antonio was trying his best to deny the presumption of them being boyfriends.

 _But this is bloody ludicrous!_

"I spent my childhood in Spain since it's our mum's homeland. My little brother here's quite a daddy's boy."

The Englishman held his breath. He was either wishing to burst a laugh or punch Antonio for uttering the most idiotic fraud towards an innocent old man. He couldn't imagine himself being Antonio's actual sibling, they would surely fight a lot.

"That's much―"

"Two glasses of wine, please."

Antonio emphasised, cutting their silly conversation off, a slight of annoyed smile tugged atop his face. The chubby man apologised with a giggle before he hurried himself up to serve the orders.

They both were safe at least, that was why they breathed out a relieved sigh.

* * *

An hour was the exact amount of time they had spent at the pub. There were not much attractions to be expected more than laughing with those smelly men, **middle aged men** , right after the previous reckless chatter with the owner. Lucky enough, they didn't get drunk tonight; Arthur found it odd.

"Never knew I had a Spanish brother before."

"I've never expected an English brother either."

They started a topic regarding last Antonio's gag, crushing a massive boredoom atmosphere among the two. On the passenger seat next to Arthur, Antonio almost fell asleep if one of them didn't initiate the chatter.

"Nice plot. Y're gonna make a good novel of it." Arthur chuckled to himself as he uttered his usual sarcastic comment.

"Everyone thinks we're dating, y'know, I tried my best to not embarrassing you."

The Spanishman confessed the truth behind all of his stupid act. He always knew that Arthur wouldn't be pleased at the first place about what people was thinking about them being together. Antonio did that for the purpose of Arthur's dignity.

"Actually ... what's so wrong with that?"

"Huh?"

Antonio flicked a glimpse, shifting his attention on Arthur next to him, who was driving with a straight face. The younger man had his full focus to the road which made him reluctantly talk too much.

"... dunno." He breathed, a shriveled murmur came from his mouth. He was thinking. About Arthur.

"You don't seem to be comfortable with me."

―and all of his attitude towards him. Antonio didn't really understand as well as he wasn't certain whether Arthur disliked him or not. They had too much quarrels; physical fights, even. Arthur couldn't stop his mouth to criticise Antonio and vise versa; which made him sure that Arthur surely did see him as no more than an acquaintance; a friend of one of his other friend.

"I'm not a special person to y―"

"You just don't understand me." Arthur interrupted him, and Antonio narrowed his eyes,his brows furrowed in perplexity.

"About what?"

Arthur pushed up the brake pedal by his toes, pulling the handbrake and settled the clutch at last as a red ray emitted on the traffic light, stopping the car for a moment. He took this chance to nudge his lips against Antonio's, kissing him softly, no hassle and no anger; shushed the surprised Spanishman until the traffic light changed its colour to green lit.

He craved a mischievous smirk while his elder mate was still stunned.

"That's my answer."

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*hideung jeung bodas; black and white


	6. pileuleuyan

**disclaimer:** hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, the sixth day's entry of #engspaweek2018

* * *

 **pileuleuyan**

 **[6/7]**

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Arthur is a strange man, Antonio thinks. He barely knows Arthur by some parts;

He is hard to read. He is full of dignity; vigorous at his finest when he comes to wars; a stubborn egotistical chap who lets no one opposing his view. A man who proclaims himself a finest gentleman ever alive despite his mostly villainous acts, he is. A man who is being determined by his people to conquer the world, he is.

That's Arthur as an empire Antonio has always seen. Their nowadays relation was far from well and stable as they went into numerous wars a lot. **A lot.** As if he erases his whole memory of their bitter-sweet marriages; England was cold and merciless at that time. Antonio can't understand him.

As _Arthur,_ he is not too much different. A total arrogant fool who occasionally does stupid things he thought they were lawful and right, Antonio thinks. And remains an unpredictable twenty three years old young man with full of awe.

Next to him, he is standing with a fierce gaze on his clear green eyes, paralysed his supposed to be former rival; his _former_ enemy. Antonio gulps in dismay, reckoning Arthur would challenge him another fight whilst he is bare-handed; he brought no weapon when Arthur invited him to meet in somewhere place they only know; a place where only big trees surrounding them.

This isn't the Somerset House where they would engage a peace treaty as the sign of an end of the war. An isolated forest, he summarises.

"England. Why'd you call me here?" Antonio asks, feeling a slight of fret for Arthur's suspicious ambience. He looks around, meeting the sun sinks down beneath the tip of pine trees.

"Aren't we supposed to meet at―"

"I called you here for a personal reason." Arthur cuts him off, sharpening his stare towards the other's confused green lenses. " _Antonio_." he beckons. Antonio dilates his pupils upon hearing his name was just mentioned; his human name, indicating that Arthur really meant what he said earlier.

Antonio stares blankly at the ground in a moment of muse. Hearing Arthur lets out a breathless sigh, he lifts his head back and Arthur is already moving closer to him.

 _This is so wrong._

"I won't be talking about our bitter relationship these days, not in a right mood." Arthur murmurs to his ears as if he read Antonio's mind, close enough to make the Spanishman feels his breath vibrates against his skin. "Give me your hands."

Antonio furrowed his eyebrows.

"¿Que?"

Arthur grabs both of Antonio's wrists only with a hand, whilst his other hand is on his pocket, making the other man startled for his sudden, fast movement. He raises a fist where he is hiding something and shows it to Antonio before he places that full hand on the Spanishman's palms.

Antonio senses a certain amount of weight as something fell into his open palms; round, smooth, and warm. Thus without saying a thing anymore, Arthur unveils the stuff; showing off a beautiful, pear-shaped shiny pearl laid atop Antonio's gloved palms. The Spanishman drops his jaw and widens his eyes in a great shock.

"You―La Peregrina-" Antonio tries so hard to overcome his stutter; he is frantic with worry and wonder.

Last time Antonio recalls, it was held by Mary―his dear little _Maria_ _―_ before her death, and brought back to the Spanish Crown where his Queen is supposed to wear this on tomorrow's important forum. But why is Arthur having this?

"Did you steal it?" he probes, his gaze is full of suspicion. Arthur throws him a smirk before uttering his proud answer.

"Keep it safe after Mary's death. Conclude it," he declares.

Antonio frowns as he was still confused, not being able to presume his mate's metaphor and Arthur growls an annoyed sigh. "That, right on your grip, is the original one!" he reveals. Another bombshell of surprise explodes when Antonio heard that fact.

"What the hell?! You even faked it?" he squeals, wishing to punch that cunning face in front of him if he wasn't holding the pearl on both his hands. "So it's the fake La Peregrina pearl that my Queen wears?"

"I won't let that sacred pearl being touched by those bloody humans." Arthur paused. His eyes suddenly darkens and sorrowful. "Except my Mary―"

Antonio was speechless for a moment before he speaks back.

" _ **My**_ Mary, Arthur. She's the daughter of _my_ Lady Catherine." He corrected, and finally furls his fingers to cover the precious pearl, protecting it from any harm. A weak laugh slides between his lips. Arthur rolls his eyes and rephrases his claim.

"Okay. _Our._ "

The Spanish representation smiles. He opens his hands again to observe the beautiful gem while reminiscing his past memories. "Why'd you give this to me instead of João or Francis?" he mumbles between his contemplation without switching his gaze.

Arthur silently watches him with a slight grief lodged near his eyes. "This thing is connecting us both, it's about our long history, you fool. You're the only one I can trust for this case," he continues with a low, husky voice and strong enough to lure Antonio's attention back to him.

"You, Antonio. 's not _Spain_ whom I am talking to. You're my friend, no longer a foe of mine." He lifts Antonio's chin with thumb and an index finger so that they could look at each other's eyes.

The Spanishman grips his breath. He has never been so close like this with Arthur; the Englishman soft pant was against his skin. "Ah. Sorry." Arthur apologises for his impertinence, shoving himself away from his stunned mate though Antonio didn't really mind it. He was just startled because Arthur surprised him so much today.

He cracks a soft laugh and Arthur doesn't feel guilty anymore. "It's just like another wedding proposal. But in a smooth, personal way."

Arthur blinks at him, then rubs his back of neck in awkward; avoiding Antonio's gaze.

"I wish I could elope with ye but my people―as well as yours―were ... y'know what uh."

Antonio laughs even harder, breaking the quiet air of the forest, he already had forgiven Arthur regardless their sour past. "Thank you for having faith on me," he says, chuffed. "I'll keep this in a safest place."

All is worth Arthur's rare, heart-warming and pure smile that Antonio doesn't want it to fade. It was his first time since an age he could see Arthur smiles like that again.

Just let them be Arthur and Antonio this time, that's the only thing they want at least for now.

* * *

*margaret of austria (wife of philip iii) wore the pearl for the celebration of the peace treaty between spain and england in 1604s

*pileuleuyan (sundanese): till we meet again


	7. mungkas carita

" _is it really a brotherly love you harbour for him?"_ _―and_ _arthur could never answer that._

 **disclaimer:** hetalia belongs to himaruya and im here sailing my ship, HAPPY ENGSPA DAY 2018 ;_;

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 **mungkas carita**

 **[7/7]**

* * *

Out of most things he despised in this world, Arthur had always hated war. A battle; bloody battle that robbed every soul from the deserved well, peaceful life; a havoc that destroyed the entire ground, leaving no trail but bloodstains. He was always quite reluctant going off for the warfare, however he had no choice but to fight.

First thing he framed once he opened his eyes was blurry vision of a little crowd―about three people―surrounded him, a crook of relieved smile etched on their muddy face.

" _Arthur's wakin' up! He opens his eyes!"_ one of them hailed, Arthur didn't know whom they referred to. Much to his confuse, the voice was quite vague on his ear, probably an impact from his recent injury.

They gave Arthur a time to collect his mind before he recovered and was fully aware.

The young man wandering his gaze around, concluding he had been unconscious for long enough time he couldn't remember. A fire pit flaming fiercely in front of him, breaking the silence atmosphere of the wild forest with that cracking sound of burnt firewood. Arthur then narrowed his eyes, slowly realising there was someone missing among them. One important person; to him and to these people.

He saw a Frenchman, with his knackered face and swollen eyelid, as well as bruised cheek―thing they all commonly got in a war―leant his back against the old tree trunk behind him. His mouth was pale and cracked as if he was keeping his voice all day long. On his lap, rested a head of silver haired German lad who was sleeping exhaustedly.

Arthur held a breath for a moment. His lips trembled as he felt there was something bad happened when he shut his eyes. A bad feeling clung on his chest.

"-'s―where-" he probed atrocious mutters amidst his shrivelled cough that sounded hoarse and roughly painful, everyone was furrowed their brows upon the mumble. "―where's Antonio-" Arthur scarcely finished his words.

Nobody answered him. They avoided his vicious glare out of his sharp, darkened green eyes. Arthur clenched a fist once he felt the exasperation breaking his temper.

"Francis!" he shouted in annoyance, stubborn as he was always be.

Francis hissed, not daring to answer the forceful question yet. _Coward._ He shouted at himself. Just when he barely opened his mouth, a stern voice with full of desperation, interrupted him.

"They caught him alive. There's nothing else we could do. You, Arthur, are fucking useless just we are."

 _Damn Lovino! Have some delicacy!_ The Frenchman grit his teeth, restraining himself for not throwing his punch towards the Italian man.

Arthur froze, his heartbeat was likely stopped pounding; he felt dead for a moment. His upper lip was trembling when he probed further. "And you didn't at least try to get him back? He was injured wasn't he?"

"We tried our best, sir!"

"By letting one of your comrades got captured? Thank you for doing your greatest effort!" he angrily snapped a sarcasm shout, raising his voice, irritating some of his comrades who were still awake.

"We saved you at least, Arthur!"

That one scold came from the Portuguese's mouth, silencing raged Arthur when he lost his self-control. João's face wasn't much different from the others', as well as Arthur's; they were all miserably regretting all happened today.

"... **he** saved **you**. You two had the worst injury among us all ..."

João dropped his head down, he was full of guilt and grief, and Arthur was completely astounded upon hearing that; disappointed to himself, self-loathing.

* * *

 _They caught him alive._

 _You fucking useless._

 _He saved you._

Those words were always echoing in his mind; aching and tormenting. A sharp, paralysing pain spread through his body. Arthur crouched down with his head bowed low between his knees, regretting all his stupidity for being weak, for being effortless, for being wounded when everyone needed him the most, for being saved by Antonio in numerous times.

He cupped his whole face as a gesture of despair and frustration, hissing a low screech amidst the row of his fingers. Once he wished to lie down and cry, his lacrimal gland was all deadly parched like a dry maize field.

Arthur was afraid to death. He was quite afraid that he felt his palm drenched in his own cold sweat, his body shuddered in anxious. He couldn't stop thinking about Antonio on his every heavy pants, ignoring wounds stained almost his whole body.

It was already in the mid of night where everyone on his squad― _Francis Jo_ _ã_ _o Lovino Gilbert and the other three sissy plonkers_ , Arthur counted―supposed to had slept inside their tent, warm and comfort near the fire, had packed their stuffs for the later dawn's journey. Throughout the time his comrades dozed in exhaust, the young English couldn't find it comfortable to rest albeit he was extremely knackered, realising his legs were frequently suffered severe cramps.

Instead of grouping up with the others, Arthur isolated himself in a place where he considered more peaceful to calm his head. It wasn't close to the post but wasn't far either; bounded with dark shrubs, old trees with their trunks against the charcoal sky. Across his position was a river curled near his feet. A slice of mellow euphony amidst the scattered leaves, reflecting the ray of a moonlight, as well as the depiction of a sorrowful, depressed young man's face. Arthur silently watched his own reflection, then bitterly laughed at himself.

" _Captain might've been smuggled underground, or 's already a war prisoner."_

" _He_ _ **was**_ _alive but badly injured._ _ **Was.**_ _We don't know how's he_ _ **now.**_ _"_

" _We couldn't afford any even if there were ransom we shall pay to get him back!"_

 _Fuck those cowardice excuses!_

He groaned in agony, ruffling his already messy hair when his mind couldn't stop the haunts of his comrades' utterances in several moments ago. The squad planned to head back to Lisbon at dawn, after they attempted to make Arthur certain that Antonio was already dead, that he had no any chance to live once he fell to enemy's trap, that he died in peace because of his wholehearted sacrifice for Arthur and his other comrades that he considered his own family.

That didn't make Arthur relieved nevertheless. Instead, his anger grew more and he got more rebellious.

Arthur couldn't just let it go. He was always certain that Antonio was still alive.

Thus he clenched his fist, firm and hot; determining something inside of his mind afterwards.

* * *

And there he finally was; had walked far enough from his post without any of his comrades noticing, all prepared with his own needs on his bag; mostly weapons, some of them were spare foods. Sneaked when his mates were still asleep profoundly, he decided to run away and seek for Antonio by himself.

Scampering through the woods with such confidence that nobody would tail him, Arthur unveiled his hood, letting his ruffled hair went wild when a blow of wind struck upon his scalding body. However he was suddenly stopped as someone yanked him, slamming the helpless English boy against a tree on his back.

Arthur screamed. He was slightly frightened when he thought an enemy followed him by any chance since the forest was in barely lit. But the unknown person had a very familiar voice when he spoke;

"Arthur! What do you think you're doing?"

"―bloody Francis!" he hissed in a great shock when someone, no other than Francis with his stupid French accent, found him out.

It was fucking Francis who suddenly appeared between the dark trunks, grabbing his wrist, gripped it tightly before Arthur snarled at him and shoved him away with force and his stubbornness.

"Where are you going? We're heading back to Lisbon this dawn. And you're in the wrong way!"

"You're in my way!"

The younger male, much to his frustration and ego, yelled. His eyes were red as if he was going to cry. Luckily Francis didn't see that, or he would humiliate him with no mercy.

"Still attemptin' on rescuing Antoine? By yourself alone? How many times I have to tell you, Antoine is―"

"He's alive. I can―" Arthur held a breath on his lung. He bit his lower lip before continue stammering; "―sense his presence."

Francis thought Arthur was mad. So did everyone on the group. He was a total crazy; or apparently was drunk of too much ale. Sadly Arthur wasn't joking and was pretty much sober to walk his own legs.

"Why would you go so far for him?" the Frenchman insisted, narrowing his eyes in suspicion for Arthur's unbreakable determination. Because it was hardly impossible for him to seek for his lost, injured squad captain; his precious friend. He was indeed gutted for what happened to Antonio in the previous day, but he couldn't let the same thing happened to Arthur. Antonio was dead, already died by enemy's hand, it was hopeless to try to get him back from the enemy's hand.

Arthur paused. Avoiding Francis' eyes upon him, he lowered his head and looking at the ground where they were standing on. He clenched a fist as he felt tensed up.

"He's like my own ... brother. Better than my real shitty brothers." He silently whispered a grief mumble, reminiscing old memories living inside of him. He could never erase Antonio's presence on his cinematic records. "I may be having no chance to survive. But I need to save him even if it costs my life."

 _A brother?_ _Since when?_

Francis frowned, his lips carving a strange mocking smirk. He wasn't expecting that came from Arthur's own mouth. He always antagonised Antonio in every occasion and vice versa on Antonio's side. They always bantered over many ridiculous things; they were barbaric towards each other. That was all Francis could conclude in regards. He was always close with those two and knew a lot how they were, but he never thought Arthur actually valued Antonio more than his own life. Their bond wasn't as shallow as Francis thought.

What did they do when he wasn't around them? That was his next question.

"What makes you sure he's alive?" Francis once again interrogated his English comrade, with more threatening tone. "What if he just barely died when you arrive?"

Arthur was still being stubborn, being just himself.

"I wouldn't know if I didn't try." He emphasised. Though he wasn't really an optimistic person as Gilbert, if it came to his precious friend, he would do anything even the most impossible. "I will bring him back no matter what. Even if it means he would be home without me." He finalised his decision, which made Francis stunned, speechless between his long gasp.

Francis shook his head, then laughed in frustration, pitying his poor little Arthur who couldn't accept the death of his beloved big brother.

"'s it really a brotherly love you harbour for him?"

Arthur wasn't answering him as he disappeared without Francis even noticed. His only concern was Antonio, no one beside him.

The Frenchman vowed himself he would punch that prat to death _**if**_ he came back alive.

* * *

* HAPPY SPUK DAY FOR Y'ALL! still can't believe i've finally managed to finish writing much english fics. also i want to apologise for my bad english, it's not my native language, though, i will never use this for an excuse to avoid constructive critics. i'm so happy that i'm able to overcome my laziness xDD

* got the story idea after rewatched bbc merlin and idk that era was mmmm good to be written (?)

* mungkas carita (sundanese): finishing the story

* once again thank you very much for reading, happy spuk day!


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